San Diegan hopes to reunite with mother despite 'Muslim ban'

San Diegans opposed to the refugee and immigration bans gathered at San Diego International Airport on Jan. 28, 2017.

San Diegans opposed to the refugee and immigration bans gathered at San Diego International Airport on Jan. 28, 2017. (San Diego Union-Tribune file photo)

DHAHA NUR

Someone once said, “It’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.” It’s been over two decades since I have seen my mother –– since July 1996 –– and I can’t help but look back over those past 22 years and wonder what my life would’ve been like growing up with her.

My mother and I are not separated by choice. We fled Somalia when I was 5, running for our lives in the midst of a civil war. I came to the U.S. without my mother. I was young, but old enough to feel the impact of her absence. And 22 years later, it’s not a war or even an ocean that forces our separation. It’s our nation’s president, whose Muslim ban –– introduced two years ago this week –– gave the green light to tear families like mine apart.

Before the Muslim ban, I never doubted that my mother would soon be rejoined with me: her eldest son, her pride and joy. After the summer of 2014, the same summer I received my citizenship, I made it my mission to bring my mother here to the United States. Without hesitation I applied for her visa, so we could regain the years we lost to time.

Two years ago this week, when Trump first introduced the Muslim ban, we were horrified. We had already jumped through all the bureaucratic hoops, from the original visa application to supplying my mother’s DNA evidence. But we continued to push for my mother’s dream of seeing her son. Last August, my mother successfully completed all the requirements for her visa. We were elated, knowing we were just moments away from our dream.

And then on Oct. 11, 2018, I received the news: “Denial under Presidential Proclamation 9645.”

I was devastated, and worst of all, I had no way to explain this to my mother. How could I tell her she was indefinitely banned from being with me based on nothing more than her nationality? Or that we had no appeal to a process we had trusted, and invested so much heart into? Heartbreak and hopelessness are feelings I have had to navigate before, as a former refugee.

But it hit hard, knowing that this moment was shrewdly orchestrated by an administration bent on banning others because of their faith and their homeland.

Our story is not unique; there are countless people whose lives the Muslim ban has impacted in ways that should shock the American consciousness. Marwa, a 16-year-old Syrian girl disfigured by a bomb blast, was recently informed that the United States has banned her from seeking the medical treatment she desperately needs. And in the 2 percent of cases that someone is granted a Muslim ban waiver, like the Yemeni mother who was recently granted entry to visit her 2-year-old son on life support, the right to see one’s family requires a coordinated online and legal campaign.

I’ve long been hoping to bring my mother to the U.S., especially now that I have built a life she would be proud of. I’ve been very fortunate: I had the opportunity to graduate from San Diego State University, I am happily married, and I have a lovely 9-month-old daughter who my mother desperately wants to meet. But the Muslim ban sends a clear message to all the communities it impacts: the Trump administration does not believe we have the same rights and privileges as other Americans.

Trump’s Muslim ban runs counter to the values the United States aspires to: religious freedom, and our commitment to affording every human being the respect and dignity they deserve. These are the values I sought when I came here. And they are the ones I ask you to affirm today, two years after the ban was introduced and so many of us flooded airports to refute it.

As a first-generation refugee, I have so much hope for my life here. I have hope for my family, for my siblings, my daughter, and, someday, for a reunification with my beloved mother. I still believe we can do better.

So on this anniversary of the Muslim ban executive order, picture my mother, far from her family and banned from seeing her son and grandchild.

I want her to be part of “the life of my years,” and it will take each and every one of us standing together against the Muslim ban to make that happen.

Nur is a Somali-American and the civic engagement manager at the Partnership for the Advancement of New Americans. He lives in San Diego.

An earlier version of this commentary misattributed the first quote to Abraham Lincoln. It is actually unclear where the quote originated.